


Auld Alliance

by Fire_Bear



Series: Kilts [3]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Anal Sex, Fluff and Smut, Genderfluid Character, Kilts, M/M, Sexy Sporrans, Weddings, kilt kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 12:39:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5456813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Bear/pseuds/Fire_Bear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's another wedding but, this time, Arthur's happy to be there. Unfortunately, a kilt is a requirement - and one thing leads to another. Again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Auld Alliance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zeplerfer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeplerfer/gifts).



> This. This is rather long.
> 
> I think I tried to make the plot interesting and it went on a bit too long. If you're just here for the sex I suppose you could skip to halfway through...

“Hey, jerk-face!”

Letting go of his ring, Arthur looked up at the door in surprise. He hadn't heard that voice in years and wasn't sure he could quite believe his ears. But, sure enough, there stood Peter, wearing his own little kilt. It was red, black and white, Arthur noted – not Auld Scotland tartan like he was wearing and which he knew Andrew liked. Instead of a tuxedo jacket, white shirt and tie, Peter was merely wearing a blue pinstriped shirt. It was untucked at one side and Arthur's fingers twitched with the need to correct it. His hair was swept back; Arthur supposed he thought he looked rather debonair.

“What're _you_ doing here?!” Arthur exclaimed. His gaze flickered past Peter, hoping he'd not brought their bastard of a father: he had thought he'd been banned from the event. Glowering, he said, “He-”

“He's not here,” Peter told him, his smug expression melting into one of such anger that Arthur thought it didn't suit being on such a young boy's face.

“Thank God,” breathed Arthur. “I knew about his and Andy's argument but when I saw you...”

Peter shook his head. “Nah. He's on a cruise with Mum.”

“ _What_ ?” Arthur almost growled. “That complete-”

“Can we not talk about him?” Peter whined.

However, a thought occurred to Arthur and he couldn't let the subject drop. Tilting his head and frowning, Arthur said, “Wait. Why aren't you with them? It's school holidays up there, right?”

Grimacing, Peter shook his head. “I hate him. He's a jerk.”

“Oh. Had a falling out, too?”

“He said so many nasty things about you and Andy. It was insulting.”

Arthur gave him a bemused look. “Why would that insult  _you_ ?”

A grin appeared on Peter's face. “My partner's gender-fluid.”

“You-?” Arthur's eyes widened. “Aren't you a little young to be dating?!”

Scowling, Peter whacked Arthur on the arm. “I'm thirteen, wanker!”

“Hey! Watch your language-! Wait a minute. How did you get here, anyway?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Peter, remembering the original question. “Well, I told Mum and Dad I didn't wanna go on a stupid cruise if he was gonna be mean so they dropped me off at Aunty Eirlys and she brought me up with Sean.”

“Really?” Arthur's eyes lit up. “I haven't seen them in a while.”

“Yeah. They keep saying you need to come to Christmas gatherings.

His mood darkened. “I don't want-”

“He won't be there,” Peter interjected, grinning. “Aunty Eir shouted at him when he dropped me off and told him not to bother going down this year.”

“Well, I'll think about it,” Arthur answered, evasively. He had been thinking of going to America with Alfred instead of being alone with his mum this year. However, it was spring so he had lots of time to make a final decision.

Peter turned to look at the entrance of the room, large and vaulted and elegantly decorated, and let out an excited sound. “Here comes Peppi!” he declared.

Curious about Peter's partner, Arthur glanced over and spotted his aunt and cousin walking in, all smiles. Eirlys had pinned her long, brown hair into a bun, an elaborate purple butterfly pin keeping it up and matching her dress. A tiny black bag was hooked over a shoulder which she stopped from slipping off by clutching at the strap. Her other hand was dragging Sean inside. The lucky bastard had been granted leave to wear a suit – probably because he had an Auld Scotland tartan tie. Arthur could picture Andrew's excitement upon seeing it, even seeing him ruffling the man's hair as he passed, despite him being almost thirty.

Trailing behind them was a person with long, pale hair; it almost looked white. It had been braided and pinned up in an elaborate pattern. One strand spoiled the neat and specific hairstyle by sticking up in the air like some sort of antenna. They wore a rather bright, yellow dress with a matching pair of small heels and a sunflower shaped bag had been slung over their shoulder. Spotting Peter, they lit up, smiling widely as they hurried over, presumably to be close to the one person they were truly familiar with at the event.

Arthur barely got to see Peter and Peppi's touching reunion – they'd only been separated for a couple of minutes, for goodness' sake! - before Eirlys spotted Arthur and switched track, striding purposefully towards him. He barely had time to register how close she was before she had grabbed him around the middle, lifted him off his feet and swung him around in a circle. “Little Artie!” she cried as she let him go.

“Honestly, woman!” Arthur exclaimed, rolling his eyes and straightening his jacket. “There was no need for that.”

“Yes, there is. I haven't seen you in _ages_!”

Grimacing, Arthur shrugged a shoulder. “Sorry. You know why.” He waved his left hand as if to dismiss the topic entirely and Eirlys let out a gasp.

“Oh, my gosh!” she squealed grabbing his hand and holding it up to the light. There, snug on his finger, glinted a plain silver ring, flashing as Arthur's aunt turned Arthur's hand this way and that. “You-!” Once again, Eirlys gave a little squeal of delight.

“Woah, mate,” said Sean, his Irish accent turning a few passing heads. “You got engaged?”

Not able to resist the happy grin which spread across his face, Arthur nodded. “I did. It was such a-”

“You got engaged?!” growled Eirlys, suddenly, cutting Arthur off. “And you didn't think to tell your family?!”

“Mum and Andy know...” Arthur informed her, shifting uncomfortably under her glare.

“ Rydych ychydig ast! ” Eirlys gave Arthur a smack on the head. He flinched and glanced at her sheepishly. Not seeming satisfied, the woman gave him another hard smack. She raised her hand for a third and Arthur ducked a little.

He needn't have bothered: a pair of strong arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him back into a muscular chest and out of range. Before he could react, Alfred growled at his aunt from behind Arthur. “What the fuck d'ya think you're doing?! Leave my fiancé alone!” Arthur's heart fluttered and swelled at the word, fond smile crossing his features despite the situation.

“It's okay, Al,” he told the American, patting his arm. “She's my aunt.”

“Oh.” If anything, this did nothing to relax Arthur's fiancé. In fact, he seemed to tense more. “I'm so sorry, ma'am. I-”

“Don't you worry about it, dear,” Eirlys replied, grinning, a glint in her eye. “So you're the man my nephew intends to marry? You  _must_ be special.”

At that, Arthur knew what was coming. Frantically, he tried to stop it by quickly saying, “Why don't I show you to your seats?”

As Arthur hurriedly ushered his family down the aisle, passing chattering friends and family of the two grooms, Alfred decided to tag along. “I wouldn't say I'm special or nothing. I don't deserve him, y'know. He's just perfect.”

While Arthur was flattered, pleased and amazed at the comment; he also cursed the fact that the topic had returned to what Eirlys clearly wanted to mention. Sure enough, just as they reached the assigned seats for the family, the Welsh woman spoke up. “Well, I think  _he_ thinks you're special or he wouldn't have said yes – you see, he said he'd only ever marry a fairy princess when he was young.”

Red-faced, Arthur gestured at the seats and tried not to look at Sean's amused face or Peter's smug grin. He  _definitely_ didn't want to look at Alfred. So, quickly excusing himself, he hurried off to make sure everything was going to plan. Or, at least, mostly to plan as a lot of things had gone wrong already.

When Arthur had been asked to be Andrew's best man, he had been shocked beyond belief. Then he had settled into his role, making sure Andrew had the best day ever. The man wanted to get married in Stirling Castle, everyone in kilts, a traditional ceilidh and Scottish foods.

Francis hadn't exactly agreed...

A compromise had been reached: instead of marrying in France as Francis wished, they would marry in a hotel in Scotland. Arthur had looked high and low for somewhere which would seem traditionally Scottish and yet was still as accessible to a bed as Francis wanted. Not that he liked to think of what would be happening in that bed... Eventually, he had settled on the New Lanark Mill Hotel – though he may have picked that one because of the Victorian-era buildings, something he always felt were pretty. Andrew wasn't best pleased with it but, after a tour in the century old village, he decided it would be best.

Then he'd demanded all the men had to wear kilts and it was a bit of a struggle to get Francis and Andrew to stop fighting long enough to make a compromise. And Francis's best men – Gilbert Beilschmidt and Antonio Fernandez Carriedo – weren't much help, having a great time sitting back and watching the proceedings.

Once they had agreed on what people had to be wearing, they'd had to work out what to eat, the decorations... Basically, it was a logistical nightmare. And, being a Masters student still at university, Arthur grew less and less patient. Poor Alfred had had to listen to Arthur angrily ranting about everything while he nervously awaited the appointed day he was to ask Arthur himself to marry him. Arthur felt so awful once he had asked, realising he had spent the past few months complaining and declaring he never wanted to have to be involved in another wedding. Thankfully, Alfred forgave him and the proposal lifted Arthur's spirits enough that he was able to cope with the coming disasters.

The cake was one of these. When it was dropped off, Francis complained about it, disliking the fact that there were little thistle decorations covering it. Although it wasn't Arthur's responsibility, he had had to physically restrain Francis from making his own version of it. Then his suit had been too long and then too short and then not quite right whilst Andrew had had to get a new kilt because something went wrong when he was dry-cleaning his. The poor man had been terribly upset and even spoke of calling off the wedding because 'it's obviously cursed'. Thankfully, they got a kilt at short notice and everything fell into place for the day.

Or most of it. Arthur approached Kiku who sat at the front of the hall, piles of pale-coloured paper surrounding him, his hands working so quickly they were a blur. A bundle of wires were nearby and, as Kiku finished with the paper he was working on, he reached for one. In a clean vase sat a bunch of what appeared to be white roses. Arthur wasn't sure he would ever be able to repay Kiku for helping him out, especially since they had rushed him to the venue just that morning (despite him having not been invited, since he was a friend of Arthur and Alfred and not Andrew or Francis) after they had found out that the florist they had hired to bring the flowers had had a power outage the day before. All of the flowers they had picked out had been ruined and Arthur had made the origami suggestion in order to prevent Francis from finding out about it and panicking.

“They look amazing,” Arthur told Kiku.

“Thank you,” the man said, not looking up.

“I'm sure we can make do with only one vase of them. Don't work yourself too hard.”

That caught Kiku's attention. He looked up, smiling a little. “The same could be said to you, Arthur. You've barely had time to rest.”

“As someone once said to me, I'll have time to rest when I'm dead.” He grinned at Kiku whose smile widened in response. Turning to go, he stared at the floor, making a mental check-list. The other decorations were up, the white silk ribbons attached to the back of each seat and draped from the ceiling; the orders of service had been printed and each seat had one; his fiancé was dressed to the nines, complete with kilt; the family was here, his mother already seated; he hadn't seen Francis in a while which he had decided to assume meant Gilbert and Antonio were keeping him busy; the rings were in his sporran.

Deciding to quadruple-check they were still there, he ducked his head and unzipped the bag. After a quick search, he found them and breathed a sigh of relief as he quickly replaced them. Everything was perfect, more or less.

That was when he walked headlong into someone. Grateful he hadn't dropped the rings, he glanced up. “Oh, sorry-” he began before realising it was Alfred. “Ah.” His cheeks turned red again. “Hi.”

“Artie,” Alfred said, looking amused. “Why'd ya run off? You're not still worrying about everything, are ya?” A worried look crossed Alfred's face. “You needta calm down. It'll be fine.”

“Well, um...” Arthur glanced away, wondering whether he should lie or not. “It wasn't  _just_ because I was worrying. What Aunt Eirlys said... It's just  _embarrassing_ !”

“What, the fairy princess thing?” Alfred laughed while Arthur's cheeks turned darker. “Why are you worried about what I think? I love you – and it's pretty sweet. Though, I gotta tell you, I ain't no princess.” Grinning, Alfred placed his hands on Arthur's hips and pulled him close. He gave Arthur a peck on the forehead, the shorter relaxing and placing his hands flat on Alfred's chest, rubbing a little. Then, as was usually the case, Alfred leaned down and whispered seductively in his ear. “I'm sure ya know that.” He pulled away and winked at Arthur who rolled his eyes.

“Honestly,” he sighed, pretending Alfred's tone hadn't affected him whatsoever. “Besides,” he continued, “my expectations were too high – I've had to settle.” Alfred gasped at that and pouted at Arthur. He chuckled and patted Alfred's chest lightly. “It's okay – I'm probably more of the fairy than you. I suppose you can be my heroic knight. Thank you for distracting me.” Smiling, Arthur pulled Alfred's face down for a soft, loving kiss. “Now, love, sit down, will you? I've got to find Andy and see how long Francis will be.”

With that, he hurried off to the hall where Andrew had told him he'd be waiting to greet his guests. He gave a little wave at Peter who sat beside Peppi, holding their hand and chattering happily to them. Peter waved back with a wide grin and a happy blush. Arthur found it cute and couldn't help a little giggle.

Outside, he didn't have to look far for the nervous groom in question. Andrew was pacing up and down, unable to escape and have a smoke, forbidden by Arthur just that morning. Rolling his eyes, Arthur grabbed Andrew's arm as he passed. “Come on, you. You need to go in and talk to people.”

“Didja fix the flowers?” Andrew asked.

“It's in process. Don't worry. Let  _me_ do that.”

“Ach,  _you_ shouldn't be worrying so.” Andrew grimaced at Arthur as he allowed his brother to pull him back into the room. “It's no  _your_ wedding.”

“Look, it doesn't matter. And it's a bit late now.”

Andrew went silent, striding alongside Arthur as he took him up to the makeshift altar – a large table with a silk tablecloth draped over it. One of the paper flower bouquets had been placed upon it, right in the centre. They awaited two more on that table as well as ones to be scattered along the aisle. Arthur only hoped Kiku could make them in time.

When he got Andrew in position, the Scot spoke. “I'm sorry.”

“What for?” asked Arthur.

Not looking him in the eye, Andrew shrugged a shoulder. “A lotta things. But... For putting up with me an' Fran. I think we drove ye up a wall, huh?”

“You did,” Arthur said, flatly. “But you're my brother and I suppose I have to deal with being driven up walls.”

A chuckle transformed Andrew's troubled visage into a carefree, younger-looking one. “Aye, well...”

“You stay here,” Arthur told him. “I have to see if Bridezilla's ready yet.”

Once again, he hurried through the room and exited the hall, this time waving at his fiancé as he passed. Along the corridor and up the stairs he went, finally arriving at the 'bride's room. Knocking, he prayed they were nearly ready – the registrar would be there soon and he didn't want them to have to wait for too long.

Thankfully, the door was opened – but only slightly. Antonio peeked out at him and Arthur frowned. “Good afternoon...” Arthur said, suspicious of the furtiveness. “Is the Frog ready yet?”

“Ah. We, er...”

“Is that Andrew?!” came the rather high-pitched and strained voice of Francis.

“It is Arthur,” the Spaniard answered.

“What's going on?” Arthur demanded.

“Just a little... mishap...”

“Mishap?” Arthur swore he could feel his blood pressure going through the roof. “What's wrong  _now_ ?”

“What do you mean, 'now'?” came Francis's voice again, sounding close to tears. Arthur cursed his luck; of course he would forget that Francis didn't know about the flowers and blurt something out.

“I was referring to that business with the kilt,” Arthur explained, hurriedly. “So, what's wrong?”

There was a pause as Antonio looked into the room. He must have gotten the go-ahead for he opened the door wider and Arthur was allowed access. The room was small, very white and cramped – though that was more to do with the sheer amount of beauty products and jewellery and everything else Francis thought necessary, as well as everything they needed for Antonio and Gilbert. A bed was pushed into the corner with a dressing table taking up most of one wall, the large mirror making the room look larger. Two other doors led to rooms Arthur frankly didn't want to bother with and he turned his attention to the dressing gown-clad groom.

Before Arthur could repeat his question, Francis held up a pair of trousers. “They're ruined! I can't wear my suit!”

Moving closer, Arthur stared at the garment – and almost immediately saw the problem. A stain, slightly darker than the navy colour of the material, had spread around the crotch. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what it was but he decided to ask. “What happened?”

“Gilbert spilled a bottle of cologne on it,” Francis snapped, shooting a glare at the man standing behind the door.

“And I told you it was an accident,” Gilbert growled back.

Sighing, Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, letting his eyes close. If they started arguing, they wouldn't get anywhere. So, shutting them out, he began to think. His thoughts alighted on his own backup plan – seeing as Andrew had already had trouble with his kilt, Arthur had decided to bring trousers with him in case there was something wrong with his and Alfred's clothing. If he brought them here and had Francis try them on, he could probably fix it with a needle and thread.

And people told him it was a weird hobby.

“Stay here,” he ordered them. “I'll be right back.”

* * *

 

It didn't take him long to get to his and Alfred's room and back with the two pairs of trousers. Alfred's was black and his was navy but he wasn't sure his were quite long enough in the leg to fit Francis well enough. Knocking, he gained entrance and forced Francis to try them both on.

The result was that Alfred's was too baggy but the right length whilst Arthur's fit him better around the waist but were too short. Also, Francis wasn't entirely keen on his trousers being a different colour from his jacket. Arthur sighed and pulled out a sewing kit from his sporran. “I'll try and lengthen my trousers somewhat but it might be better if I just sew up Alfred's trousers so they're tighter on you. Don't you have a black jacket somewhere? It might be easier just to wear _that_.”

“But the navy suit was supposed to match the flowers!”

“Ah...” Arthur scratched his nose with his free hand. “Navy wouldn't match them.”

“What do you mean?!” Francis screeched as Arthur held up Alfred's trousers instead, calculating what he needed to do. “There are supposed to be blue flowers amongst the white!”

“Well,” Arthur began as he laid the trousers on the dressing table, careful of the bottles sitting there, “I couldn't find blue paper at short notice.”

“ _Paper_?!”

Wincing, Arthur shrugged, resolved to just reveal the disaster the floral arrangements had become. “The flowers for us were ruined before they got here. I've got a friend of mine doing origami. It'll be fine. The ones I saw were really good.”

As Arthur began to sew, he glanced up into the mirror and spotted Francis's distraught expression. The Frenchman dropped onto the edge of the bed and buried his head in his hands. “This is a sign. We shouldn't be getting married.”

Arthur whirled around on the stool he sat on. “Don't you dare!” he growled, glaring at him. “My brother's down there, waiting, with all the guests. You _will not_ let him down. I'm not letting you break his heart!”

Francis looked up, just as furious. “This day is supposed to be _perfect_.”

Rolling his eyes, Arthur went back to his sewing. “Are you telling me your relationship with Andy is perfect?”

“Well... No. I suppose we have our disagreements.”

“Like the wedding venue.”

“Like the wedding venue,” Francis agreed. “But, still, for _one day_ it was supposed to be perfect!”

“It doesn't need to be _perfect_ ,” Arthur reasoned, working away as quickly as he could while still doing a good enough job. “It just needs to be _special_. And, trust me,” - Arthur snorted - “it'll be special.”

“But not for the right reasons.”

“It'll be fine. The point of the day is to express your love for each other. And that's what you'll do.”

Suddenly, Antonio decided to speak up. “Hey, Gil.” Arthur looked up at the mirror again to see Antonio tilting his head as he addressed the albino. Gilbert merely raised an eyebrow but Francis turned to them, wondering what Antonio had to say. “Arthur makes a better best man than either of us.”

Gilbert snorted. “Like hell he does. _We_ took Francis to a strip club for his stag do, like you're supposed to. _He_ took Andy hillwalking.”

“Andy _likes_ hiking up Ben Nevis,” Arthur told them, finishing off with part of the sewing. He secured the stitching before biting off the excess string. Then he shifted the trousers and started on another part.

“Still,” said Gilbert, waving his hand in the air.

“Sí,” Antonio replied. “But he has calmed Francis down and he is fixing his problem. You just yelled at him.”

“That...” Gilbert trailed off before turning a sheepish grin on his French friend. Francis gazed back at him, unimpressed. “Sorry, Francis. I didn't mean to yell. I just panicked – I mean, what was I supposed to do?”

Francis sighed and shrugged a shoulder. “Help,” he said. “But, no matter – Arthur will fix this. Won't you?”

“Oh, yes. Arthur will fix this like he's fixed everything else,” the student pointed out. Silence settled as he continued his work before he spoke up again. “I'd better get a really good thank you present for this.”

* * *

 

The trousers fit, the registrar arrived, the flowers were spread around the hall as requested and Francis finally walked down the aisle. Arthur was so pleased and happy for his brother that he was actually smiling as they exchanged vows and rings. There was a switch of rooms for the reception and they were all seated at their tables for their meal and everything was going swimmingly.

As they ate (before the speeches and the ceilidh), Arthur gazed at the favour that had been left for him: a bunny carved from a block of wood, hand-crafted by Andrew himself. He'd known that Andrew carved furniture by hand for a small company in Glasgow but he hadn't known he could carve quite so beautifully. And it must have taken a while as each carving was different – Alfred's was a superhero, flying through the sky.

Considering his bias, Arthur thought it was perfect for him.

A devil would also have been perfect, in fact, for the man in question had had his hand on Arthur's knee since they sat down. His thumb rubbed circles across his kneecap, doing funny things to Arthur's heart, stomach and mind. He shot Alfred several looks but he was too preoccupied trying to eat with only one hand to pay attention.

It was all vaguely innocent until dessert and then Alfred seemed to decide to up his game. The blond slowly began to trail his hand up Arthur's thigh, dragging his kilt out of the way. Arthur gasped at that and Andrew, who sat on his other side, asked him what was wrong. He distracted Andrew by commenting on the carving while trying to ignore the wonderful heat trailing up towards his crotch.

When Alfred reached there, he paused, his fingers teasingly brushing against him. The American grinned and leaned over. “You're not wearing underwear again,” he whispered into Arthur's ear, almost singing in his joy.

Shuddering, Arthur nodded. “And what about you?” he murmured – he had been curious about that all day, not that he'd admit that to anyone. Ever.

Alfred's volume dropped further as he pressed his mouth against Arthur's ear. “Nope. I'm going True Scotsman today.”

“Good,” Arthur murmured, trying to steady his breathing as Alfred actually gripped him. “But please stop. We'll have fun later.”

“Not _too_ much later, right?”

“Of course not.”

* * *

 

By the time they actually reached their room, they had managed to rile each other up with whispers and looks, so much so that Arthur was sporting a throbbing erection, thankfully hidden by the sporran. They unlocked the door and stumbled in, Alfred trying to kiss Arthur all over his face. Arthur giggled as he tugged at the metal links of Alfred's sporran, walking backwards and dragging him to the bed.

When they stumbled a little, he said, “You need to let us get to the-” He was silenced by a kiss from Alfred. Before either of them could deepen it, Arthur's legs hit the bed and he dropped down onto it, sprawling across the covers. Alfred grinned and promptly clambered over him; Arthur barely had time to shuffle back so he was lying on the bed properly.

“You were saying?” Alfred said, smug as usual. Arthur rolled his eyes.

“Just get on with it.”

“Aw, no foreplay?”

Arthur reached up and tugged on the lock of Alfred's hair which always stuck up. “We've pretty much done that all day already.”

“Mm,” Alfred replied, a dangerous glint in his eye. Arthur frowned at him but Alfred only grinned wider. “Mm, we _did_ , didn't we?”

“Yes...?”

“But I really want _more_.”

Before Arthur could respond, Alfred dipped down and began to suckle on Arthur's neck. Arthur gasped and moaned, clinging to Alfred's jacket. Meanwhile, Alfred's skilful fingers worked their way down his chest, unfastening Arthur's own suit jacket. Once that was open, Alfred went to work on Arthur's shirt and tie, whipping the thin material out of the collar first. The noise made Arthur bite his lip, eyes fluttering closed as he tried to control himself.

In an effort to move things along, Arthur reached up for Alfred's own clothes but Alfred stopped him, grabbing Arthur's wrist in one hand. He knelt up and grinned down at Arthur who blinked at him, mind fuzzy. “Nuh uh. I get to keep mine on.”

Arthur groaned for an entirely different reason. “Come off it. I thought you _wanted_ sex?”

“Well, yeah,” said Alfred, shrugging. “But I get ta torture ya, this time. Fair's fair, right?”

Rolling his eyes, Arthur propped himself up on his elbows, his shirt and jacket falling from his shoulders. Spotting Alfred gazing hungrily at his exposed skin, Arthur smirked. “Oh? And that's part of the torture?” he asked, scoffing.

“Yup. I know how ya like to stare at my chest when I'm naked- Ah! That's another thing!”

“Hm?”

“We keep the kilts on!”

“What?” said Arthur, staring blankly at his fiancé. He knew they somehow always ended up in sexual situations while wearing the kilts but this was a bit much. No-one was in danger of seeing them and he honestly preferred being naked: the few times he had been convinced to wear interesting sexy outfits had felt rather weird. Then again, if it kept Alfred happy... Arthur sighed. “Whatever. Let's just get on with it, shall we?”

“Sure! Hang on.” Alfred tugged at Arthur's shirt and jacket and the Englishman sat up so he could throw them off better. In the meantime, Alfred unhooked the sporran from around Arthur's hips. It was rather satisfying for it to be removed, a weight thrown off – and across the room.

“My phone's in that!” Arthur protested.

“It'll be fine,” said Alfred and dove back in. He went straight for one of Arthur's nipples and Arthur found himself gasping raggedly at the sensation of tongue and teeth and lips. Struggling to stay upright, Arthur soon gave up and flopped backwards. Alfred didn't come with him immediately, though, and the slight pain of his nipple being bitten and pulled before Alfred followed made his cock throb.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” he breathed, the pain mingling with the pleasure as Alfred licked at him in apology.

Alfred paused in his ministrations and looked up at Arthur with a smirk. “Didja like that, honey?” he asked, sweetly. “And here you say you're not the kinky one.”

With a snort, Arthur rolled his eyes. “And here you say _you're_ not.” Arthur grabbed part of his kilt and shook it for emphasis.

“Suppose,” said Alfred. He didn't elaborate, attacking Arthur's other nipple instead. Arthur groaned, his head falling back. A hand made its way to the back of Alfred's head and pushed him down in silent approval.

However, Alfred didn't stay put, kissing and nibbling on his way down Arthur's body. The man in question found himself gripping the pristine sheets beneath him, arching up into his fiancé's mouth. Before he could collapse down, away from that teasing tongue, Alfred placed a large, firm hand at the small of Arthur's back, keeping him close as he moved down.

A loud moan escaped Arthur and, rather alarmed by the volume, he quickly clapped a hand to his mouth, biting down on the skin of his palm. Alfred would have none of that, though, as he quickly grabbed Arthur's wrist and pulled his hand away, pausing to speak. “Nuh uh! I wanna hear ya!”

Another groan fell from Arthur's lips before he could respond, the restraint on his wrist sending tingles across his body. “Too loud,” he managed to pant, staring down at Alfred. He was pleased to see Alfred's flushed face – maybe he wouldn't take too long to get to it.

“Hm,” said Alfred, apparently distracted. His eyes kept flickering, staring at Arthur's chest. Arthur didn't understand what was so appealing about it, considering how often they saw each other naked. Then, without warning, Alfred leaned forward, his hand slipping up Arthur's back to his shoulder blades. Before Arthur could so much as open his mouth to ask what was going on, Alfred suddenly bit down on Arthur's neck. He cried out, his dick getting even harder and he writhed beneath Alfred, unable to reach down and bring himself relief as there was no room for his free hand.

However, his movements worked out for him as Alfred's sporran, trapped between them, rubbed against Alfred's own erection. Smirking, Arthur moved again, panting into Alfred's ears as the other moaned at the friction. “Hurry up,” he gasped.

That seemed to rouse Alfred; letting Arthur's neck go, he licked it a few times before getting to his knees. With his free hand, Arthur clawed at Alfred's clothing and Alfred got the message. He quickly stripped off his shirt and jacket, unhooked the sporran and tossed them every which way. However, to Arthur's bemusement, he kept the kilt on.

He didn't have much time to question the action as Alfred promptly stuck his hand up Arthur's kilt and grabbed him. Crying out again, Arthur arched and gasped, grasping at the sheets again. Alfred ignored the reaction, stroking him quickly. Arthur could feel the pressure building and the pre-cum being spread along his length. If Alfred didn't make a move soon, he'd be coming on his own...

But Alfred was thinking much clearer than Arthur: he opened the drawer in the bedside cabinet, Arthur's lust-filled eyes following his movement. The noise of it opening made him come back to his senses a little and he watched – eager – as Alfred pulled out a condom and a bottle of travel lube. Setting the condom within easy reach, Alfred opened the small bottle – and paused.

“Man... There's not really much in it.”

“Al,” Arthur sighed, a sultry edge to his tone. God dammit, he just wanted Alfred in him already! “Al, love, we had sex last night. I'm pretty sure I'm still a little loose. We won't need all of it.”

“Huh.” Alfred blinked a couple of times before grinning down at Arthur. He leaned over and pecked Arthur's lips. “You're so clever, honey! 'S'why I love you!”

Arthur rolled his eyes as Alfred pulled up Arthur's legs so they were bent at the knee and separated, settling down between them. It was odd, feeling the kilt fall to gather at his waist – it made him feel more naked. And excited him even further. The position forced Arthur's lower half to lift off the bed, making it easier for Alfred to get to his entrance and he could also feel the material brushing at his back. Thankfully, Arthur wasn't too uncomfortable for long as Alfred quickly popped open the lube and poured it over his fingers. He spent a few moments rubbing his fingers together to warm it up before prodding at the hole. As Arthur had predicted, it was easy for Alfred to slide his finger in. The sensation of the finger inside him made Arthur bite his lip, the anticipation killing him.

Alfred made sure to slide it in and out several times before he decided to move on, putting in a second. He spread his fingers and Arthur felt himself being stretched. It knocked his breath away for a second, despite being used to it. Seemingly deciding to speed things up, Alfred inserted a third and began to twist them around, brushing Arthur's prostate. When Arthur cried out and bucked his hips, Alfred grinned at him and aimed for there, making sure only to brush, never to press against it.

Apparently, Alfred was still serious about the 'torture'.

The more Alfred moved his fingers, the more Arthur came undone. His legs trembled (kilt brushing against him enticingly), almost collapsing was it not for Alfred prodding them up into upright positions once more. Tears managed to escape, trickling down behind his ears. His whole body felt hot and he wouldn't have been surprised if there was a flush over his chest as well as his cheeks. He could barely keep his eyes open, closing them in bliss, only managing to stay half-open when he tried to catch Alfred's eye. The American deliberately looked away each time, apparently waiting for something and trying not to give in.

Although Arthur knew what he wanted, he was determined not to. He wouldn't give in. He wouldn't...

“God, fuck, Al!” he cried out as Alfred finally prodded his prostate instead of skimming over it. “Just-! Would you just fucking _fuck me_ , already!”

“Hm,” Alfred replied, suddenly entering Arthur's narrow field of vision. Arthur blinked several times, trying to make his eyes stay open enough to look into Alfred's darkened eyes. “I think that counts as begging,” Alfred murmured before pressing his lips against Arthur's. Moaning into it, Arthur kissed back, sloppier than normal due to his lack of breath. Without warning, Alfred prodded Arthur's prostate once more and pulled his fingers out: Arthur had to bite Alfred's lip to stop himself from pulling away and screaming in pleasure.

Carefully, Alfred pulled away and picked up the condom. When he ripped it open with his teeth and hurried to put it on and pour lube onto his hand, Arthur trembled in anticipation. His erection was leaking so much pre-cum by that point that he could feel it dribbling along his length. Watching Alfred stroke himself, kilt hitched up to allow Arthur to see, didn't help.

Finally, Alfred was ready to enter him and he shifted to make sure he was balanced on the bed better. Arthur instinctively spread his legs and Alfred pulled him closer. Curling his legs around Alfred's waist, Arthur locked his ankles, ready to pull him closer when he got impatient. Alfred, however, clearly had other plans for he grabbed Arthur's ankles, separated them and then lifted his legs to his shoulders. Realising that Alfred wanted to play rough, Arthur whimpered, restless and wishing for it to start.

But, ever careful with his fiancé, Alfred leaned down and bit Arthur's earlobe, tugging it lightly before letting it go to speak. “Baby...?” he whispered, voice husky.

“Yes!” Arthur burst out. “For God's sake, would you just _get on with it_!”

Alfred chuckled. “As you wish.”

Pressing himself against Arthur's hole, he slowly pushed himself in, stretching Arthur further. The Englishman keened and scrabbled at the sheets, the pain outweighing the pleasure for several moments. But Alfred leaned forward and kissed Arthur who, despite being almost bent in two, kissed back, letting their tongues tangle. A hand came up and draped over the back of Alfred's neck, burying themselves in the hair at the nape.

When Alfred was finally fully inside, filling Arthur so deliciously, Arthur reached up with his other hand, clutching at Alfred's shoulder. His touch was gentle but both of them knew that he'd be leaving scratches along Alfred's back soon enough. Alfred bit his lip as a pre-emptive way to get back at him; Arthur rubbed soothingly at Alfred's neck.

He chanced a glance down before Alfred moved again. Again, it was strange; being unable to see where he and Alfred were connected due to Alfred's kilt caused Arthur's stomach to twist in brilliant ways. It was a little dismaying to be unable to see their deep connection: it was exciting to be unable to see what was going to happen.

Then Alfred slowly pulled out, the feeling intensified somehow – and immediately slammed back in. That had Arthur gasping instantly and he had no time to recover as Alfred began to piston in and out, hard and fast. One of his hands slipped from Alfred's neck to his shoulder where he dug his nails in and hung on. His other hand scraped down Alfred's back, as far as Arthur could reach in his position, making the other moan.

Arthur's gasps became cries as his world narrowed to the pain and pleasure of being stretched again and again. His body jerked with each thrust and his toes curled in mid-air. All he could do was hang on and wish Alfred would aim better: his prostate was only being brushed, despite the rough treatment. Heat pooled in his belly, sweat forming on both of them, making Alfred's delectable muscles shiny and irresistible. Stretching up, Arthur licked at Alfred's chest, dragging his tongue up to his neck so he could leave his own mark.

Without warning, Alfred grabbed Arthur's legs, flinging them around his waist. Glad of the decrease in pressure on his abdomen, Arthur breathed a short sigh of relief – Alfred's next thrust made him gasp. It seemed Alfred was determined to make Arthur come now for he was angled to directly hit Arthur's sweet spot. Arthur let out a short scream upon Alfred's second hit before dragging Alfred closer to him – nails scratching at his back – to bite down on Alfred's neck. His muffled screams continued as he bit and sucked at Alfred.

The sensation of the bite seemed to make Alfred more excited: Arthur swore he could feel Alfred's cock throb and his speed picked up. Soon, Arthur was constantly crying out into Alfred's neck, his legs tightly wrapped around his waist. Alfred was panting, grunting and after what felt like forever, he began to gasp out 'sweet nothings'.

“Oh, fuck, yeah. Baby. So good. Ah! Amazing. Love ya!” Alfred faltered. “Shit. Gonna come. You close?”

Judging by the throbbing of his own dick, Arthur would say so. He detached himself from Alfred's neck. “Fucking- Yeah. Need-”

Alfred knew exactly what he meant for he gripped Arthur's waist in one hand and his member in the other. Thrusting as hard and fast as he could with half the leverage, Alfred began to stroke him. Arthur completely forgot himself as he lost himself in the pain, pleasure, sweat and Alfred – without warning his fiancé, Arthur came, white spraying over his crumpled kilt, voice raised to shout to the heavens. His body tightened around Alfred as the pressure left him and he heard Alfred call his name before he was flopping back onto the bed.

As he returned to himself, Alfred pulled out and dropped down beside Arthur. The man looked over to the American, panting heavily. “Shit. Fuck. Wow,” he managed. Alfred chuckled at him. A fond smile was present on the American's face and Alfred cupped Arthur's face to pull him into a much calmer and sweeter kiss.

When they pulled away, Alfred was grinning, a gleam Arthur was rather familiar with in his eyes. “We should totally go for a round two.”

“ _What_?!”

“Well, I don't think the honeymoon suite heard ya.”

Blushing deeply, Arthur whacked Alfred's chest. He left his hand there, though, allowing Alfred to pull him close and into a tight, loving hug. “Shut it,” Arthur mumbled.

There was a blissful silence as Alfred kissed Arthur's hair over and over. Arthur responded by kissing at one of Alfred's pectorals. He took the chance to take in Alfred's appearance: damp from the sweat, like his majestic emergence from the water at the end of a swimming race; bruise forming on his neck; red marks peeking from his shoulders, kilt hiding his manhood.

It was a very erotic image.

Finally, Alfred had to end the peaceful atmosphere. “Hey. Ya think our wedding'll be better?”

Arthur snorted. “Of course.”

“We totally need more colour, though.”

“Hm?”

“In the decorations. It was very white.”

“Maybe we can work with blue and green. Or turquoise.”

“And,” Alfred continued, brushing at Arthur's hair with light fingers, “we should totally get a dog to bring us the rings!”

Stilling for a second, Arthur frowned at Alfred's chest. Then he propped himself up on an elbow and stared down at his fiancé. “No.”

“Aw, c'mon!”

“No. No way in Hell, Al. One of my friends' mum had a bird bring the rings and there was shit all over the place. So no animals. I will accept cute little children but no animals.”

“Well, what else are we banning?” Alfred demanded.

A quick glance down Alfred's body gave Arthur a fairly good idea what else wasn't allowed. “No kilts,” he said, trying to stay stern. But an amused grin crossed his face as Alfred looked bewildered.

“But why?” Alfred asked.

“How many times have you worn a kilt around me?”

“Three...” Alfred trailed off, realisation dawning. “Ah.” The American giggled and reached up, pulling Arthur down to sprawl on top of him. “Yeah, I don't think our friends want to see us fucking each other at the altar, huh?”

“Exactly. And I know Francis was about ready to rip Andy's off him earlier. No kilts.”

“Hmm.” Alfred rubbed tenderly at Arthur's cheek with a thumb, smirking up at him. “If that's the case, can we make the best of them just now?”

Arthur laughed. “We've barely caught our breaths. Calm down, will you? I'm not going anywhere.” And they kissed, slow and loving, completely content.

**Author's Note:**

> Peppi didn't speak. Poor thing. Didn't get much of a role, did they?
> 
> It's in New Lanark Mill Hotel because I looked up places in Glasgow and that came up (it's an hour away from the city - those liars). Since I recognised that I thought, eh, screw it and so...
> 
> Origami is a thing that happened at my cousin's wedding but it was cranes and my aunt (her mother) was the one doing it. I figured Kiku would be good at it. (He got to stay for the reception.)
> 
> Topless Scotsmen in kilts - probably what sells porridge. (Seriously, there's an [advert](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oCGk_k_lQm4) for it. Okay, so he's not exactly topless but... uh... definitely a [True Scotsman](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6tZ0LWGdTq0). Also, that guy in those adverts is The Hound from Game Of Thrones. So... The more you know, right?)
> 
> Oh. About the Kirkland family... Patrick and Eirlys were brought up in Republic of Ireland and Wales, respectively. Sean is Eirlys's son who had an Irish father and lived with him in Northern Ireland after Eirlys and his father split up. Eirlys was quite young and not exactly stable in her living conditions so she let the dad bring him up until she got her crap together and went back for him. I'm not sure how it went down but Sean ended up going to Wales with Eirlys as a teenager and, as a result, has an Irish accent but speaks Welsh. Andrew, Arthur and Peter's accents are all over the place what with an Irish father, being brought up in England or Scotland or both. 
> 
> Also... There'll be another story for this series after Christmas. Last one. Definitely the last one. (But not USUK.)
> 
> Oh! And if you spot the two geeky references Arthur and Alfred say during sex, you win, like a cookie. Which in this case can be a one-shot. Or something. Maybe something else. An actual cookie, maybe.
> 
> P.S. Peter's tartan is Inverness tartan.


End file.
